Sunday is a good day to read and relax.
by Steve Carr
Sitting beside Rita’s bed Cecilia takes a red bead from the bowl of beads on the stand next to the wicker rocking chair she is rocking back and forth in and guides the thin piece of leather through the hole in the bead. Deformed by years of crippling rheumatoid arthritis, that her misshapen fingers and hands can string the beads at all surprises me. Making the strings of beads and selling them at a shop in the El Centro and another shop in Cancun to tourists is how she makes what little extra she can to survive. She refuses money or any financial assistance from me even though I have been married to her daughter, Rita, for thirty years.
As she slides one bead after another onto the string of beads she is making she doesn’t look up at me or talk to me. She hates me…
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